The branches looked first like tepees,
but there was no emptiness.
Like piles of leaves waiting
for fire: at the foot of
the wisewoman trees,
at the foot of the broken General,
next to the tree of the veteran girl
who died this summer slow red cloth
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem
An intriguing poem with rhyme and a pleasure to read. Thanks for sharing it here.10 points.